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Daisy
We’reon Tom’s roof. Not his rooftop patio, but the actual sloping roof of his shop. We’re perched up there, me with a beer, Tom with a soda, a bag of pork rinds between us.
“Remember doing this at my parents’ place?” he asks. “Sneaking up on the roof to watch the stars?”
“I do.”
He stretches out. “That’s why I set up my patio. A grown-up version of that.” He grins my way in the moonlight. “It’s nice to be able to talk without pretending I don’t know who you are.”
“Sorry.”
“I didn’t say that to needle you. I just think I deserve a gold star for not blowing it. You would not believe how many times I started to say, ‘Hey, remember when...’”
He sets the soda bottle precariously to the side and folds his arms behind his head. “I’ve thought about you a lot, over the years. You were different.”
I choke on a laugh. “Is that a nice way of saying I was kinda weird?”
“Nah. I meant our relationship was unique. I had plenty of friends, but with you, I felt more like myself. I didn’t need to be tougher than I was. Didn’t need to worry if I got upset or cried or just”—he shrugs—“admitted stuff I couldn’t admit to others. Once I got older, I’d think about you, wonder where you were, wonder why we hadn’t kept in touch. That seems weird now. It felt like you moved to another planet.”
“We were kids. Our parents made all the choices for us, including where we lived. I eventually lost touch with all of my Florida friends. You’re right—it might have only been halfway across the country, but it felt like halfway across the galaxy.”
He nods. “I wish we’d kept in touch, but maybe it’s better this way. You got to skip my wild and misspent youth.”
“And you got to skip my very boring suburban one. I was quite the little stuck-up snot for a few years.”
He laughs. “Somehow, I think your version of stuck-up is wearing designer jeans and occasionally failing to hold an elevator door.”
“And I suspect your version of a wild and misspent youth is wearing a leather jacket and smoking the occasional joint.”
“Maybe,” he says with a smile. “Though wearing a leather jacket in Florida is kinda badass.”
I shake my head. “So, now that we’re not pretending anymore, I finally get to ask how your mom’s doing.”
His smile broadens. “Very good. She left that sack of shit when I was fifteen. By then, she’d gotten her GED and added a few college courses. She got an office job and moved us to Tampa. Now she’s an office manager in Miami, remarried and living in Big Cypress. My stepdad works for the national preserve there. Total straight-up guy. I’m too old to need a daddy, but he’s there for me, you know? Encouraged me to continue mechanics after I got out and then helped me get set up here. They bought this place as a so-called investment, but what they were really investing in was me.”
“That is awesome.” I look his way, meeting his eyes. “Really awesome.”
“Even more awesome that I bought them out a few months ago. This is my place now, free and clear.” He takes a drink from his soda. “And your mom? How’s she doing?”
My expression must answer because he quickly says, “Or we can avoid that subject.”
“She’s gone. Cancer. Ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I know your dad passed, too. I’m really sorry about that. Just like I was sorry...” He inhales sharply. “What happened before you left. I never had the chance to say how sorry I was. I tried to send you a card, but I’m guessing you never got it.”
“I didn’t, but I did hear that you’d sent one. Thank you.”
“About your dad, I was glad you got to be with him at the end. I know how close you two were.”
My brows arch.
“Maeve,” he says. “Right up until she died, all anyone had to do was mention your name, and they got that story. How you defied your mom and emptied your bank account to take a bus down here and stay by your dad’s side until he passed. She was so damned proud of you.”
My eyes fill, and I sit in silence.
“And that’s not quite what she told you, is it?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, tears falling, chin turned to the side so he won’t see them.
